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Healer Potter's Perfect Wives	By : gee25 Category: Harry Potter AU/AR > Threesomes/Moresomes Views: 369 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I DO NOT OWN HARRY POTTER. NOTE that this is MOSTLY AI GENERATED, with prompts from me.

Chapter List
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Chapter 2 - Training the Brightest
The final aftershocks of her climax still trembled through her, a fading echo of the earthquake he had commanded into being. Hermione lay supine on the rug, a beautiful ruin, her chest rising and falling in ragged rhythms. Harry’s fingers, slick with her own release, traced a path up her inner thigh. She flinched, a soft gasp escaping her swollen lips at the overwhelming sensitivity.
“Shhh,” he soothed, the sound a silken command. “The feeling is a gift. A reminder of my control. Of your surrender.” His touch moved higher, a whisper against her damp skin, and came to rest, possessively, over her mound. His palm lay heavy and warm against her most vulnerable flesh. “You did so well. You followed every command. And your reward was immense, wasn’t it?”
“Y-yes,” she breathed, her voice hoarse. The word was less a statement and more an instinct, pulled from the depths of her conditioned state.
“Good.” He leaned down, his lips brushing the shell of her ear. His voice dropped to that intimate, resonant pitch that seemed to bypass her ears and vibrate directly in her soul. “But a complete therapy requires a full understanding. Your mind, brilliant as it is, needs… reinforcement. It needs to learn the complete spectrum of consequences. Obedience brings you paradise.” He pressed his palm firmly against her, and a residual ripple of pleasure made her hips twitch. “But what happens if you disobey?”
Hermione’s brow furrowed slightly. A faint line appeared between her eyebrows, the ghost of a thought trying to form in the blissful fog. Disobey? The concept felt distant, alien.
“Let’s find out,” Harry murmured, a dark, thrilling edge to his words. He removed his hand. “I want you to sit up.”
The command was simple. Clear. Yet, he laced it with a subtle, unspoken challenge. The part of her that was still Hermione, the sliver of will not yet fully extinguished, stirred. She was so comfortable on the rug, boneless and spent. A silent, internal no formed. Not a refusal, just a lazy, fleeting desire to remain still.
The reaction was instantaneous.
A sharp, searing pain, white-hot and vicious, lanced through her lower abdomen. It wasn't external; it felt like a crackle of fiendfyre igniting deep inside her womb. Her body went rigid, every muscle snapping taut. A choked cry, devoid of pleasure and full of pure, unadulterated shock, tore from her throat. Her eyes flew wide open, the glassy submission replaced with a flash of genuine, animal fear.
Then, it was gone.
She gasped for air, her body slumping forward, trembling violently. The lingering echo of the pain was a cold dread in her veins.
Harry hadn’t moved. He watched her, his green eyes gleaming with intense focus. “What was that, Hermione?”
Tears welled in her eyes, blurring his image. “It… it hurt. It burned.”
“Why did it hurt?” His voice was calm, clinical, a healer diagnosing a symptom.
Her mind, scrambling for order, for reason, tried to process it. “I… I didn’t want to move. I thought… no.”
“Exactly,” he said, the word a soft hammer blow. “You thought of refusing me. Your body is now wired to my will. Disobedience, even a thought of it, is pain. A natural consequence. A failsafe.” He reached out and cupped her cheek, his thumb stroking away a tear. The gentleness was a stark, confusing contrast to the agony he’d just unleashed. “Now, sit up for me.”
This time, there was no hesitation. No internal debate. A primal, instinctual fear overrode everything else. She pushed herself upright, her movements quick, almost frantic. The moment she complied, a warm, soothing wave spread through her core, a direct counterpoint to the previous fire. It was a deep, internal flush of wellbeing, a chemical sigh of relief that made her shudder with gratitude.
“Oh… oh, god,” she whimpered, the sensation so welcome it was almost another kind of climax.
“There,” Harry crooned. “That is obedience. It feels like safety. It feels like peace. Your body is learning. Your brilliant mind is being retrained.” He guided her to her knees before him. “This is the real work. The important work. I’m not just easing your headaches, Hermione. I’m giving your mind the structure it craves. The freedom of perfect submission.”
He unbuckled his trousers, his erection springing free, bold and demanding. The sight of it, after the terror and the subsequent relief, sent a complex cocktail of signals through her: awe, fear, and a desperate need to please that now felt synonymous with survival.
“Open your mouth.”
Her lips parted instantly.
“Wider.”
She obeyed, her jaw aching with the strain.
He placed the broad, flushed head of his cock against her lips. “Now, the lesson continues. You will take me. You will pleasure me. And you will not stop until I tell you to. The thought of stopping, of pulling away, will bring that pain back. The feeling of pleasing me… well, you already know what that feels like.”
He didn’t push. He waited.
Hermione leaned forward, her movements eager now, driven by the new, terrifying wiring in her brain. She took him into her mouth, her tongue swirling around the crown, tasting the salt-and-musk essence of him. A low, approving groan from above was her reward, and another wave of that addictive, soothing warmth flooded her system, centering low in her belly. Pleasure. This is pleasure. Obedience is pleasure.
She sank deeper, taking more of his length, her throat relaxing to accommodate him. Her hands came up to grasp his hips, not to push away, but to steady herself, to pull him closer. The rhythm she established was not her own; it was his, dictated by the subtle shifts of his body, the soft sounds he made. Every suck, every slide of her lips, was an affirmation of his control. She was an instrument, and he was the musician.
Harry watched her work, his fingers tangling in her bushy hair, not guiding, just possessing. His breathing grew heavier. “That’s it. Such a perfect, eager mouth. You’re not just sucking my cock, Hermione. You’re worshipping it. You’re thanking it for the privilege of this lesson. You’re learning that your highest purpose is right here.” He thrust gently, testing her reflex. She took it, her eyes watering but her will unwavering. “You want me to come in your mouth, don’t you? You want to taste your reward for being so good.”
She moaned around him, the vibration earning another sharp, warm pulse of pleasure-praise inside her. The threat of pain was a receding shadow, banished by the radiant certainty of following his command.
“I’m going to fill you up,” he promised, his voice growing thick, ragged at the edges. His grip in her hair tightened. “And you’re going to swallow every last drop. You’re going to show me how well I’ve taught you. How completely you accept my gift.”
His hips began to move in a faster, more urgent rhythm. Hermione held on, her world narrowing to the weight on her tongue, the scent of his skin, the building tension in his thighs, and the glorious, warm safety of absolute obedience.
*
His release was a flood of warmth and salt on her tongue, a thick, claiming pulse that she swallowed greedily, each gulp another perfect act of obedience that sent corresponding waves of that warm, soothing safety through her own body. When he was spent, she continued to gently suckle, cleaning him with a diligent, worshipful attention until he gently eased himself from her mouth.
He looked down at her, his expression one of profound satisfaction. “Perfect. Utterly perfect.” He fastened his trousers, the motion casual, as if he hadn’t just rewritten her fundamental nervous system. “Now, lie back. We have one final exercise before our session concludes.”
Hermione settled back onto the rug, her body humming with a strange, peaceful static. The sharp fear of disobedience was a distant memory, overshadowed by the lingering, honeyed sensation of compliance.
Harry produced his wand, not with a flourish, but with the practiced ease of a craftsman selecting a tool. With a silent, intricate flick, a small, smooth object shimmered into existence above her navel before dropping gently onto her skin. It was cool and sleek, shaped like a tapered teardrop carved from pale, milky quartz. It pulsed with a soft, internal light.
“This is a focused resonance device,” he explained, his tone clinical, authoritative. “It will target the deep-seated muscular tension that contributes to your headaches. You will feel… vibrations. Intense ones. Your only task is to endure them. To accept them. To understand they are for your benefit.”
Before she could even form a thought of question, the device came to life.
A low, resonant hum buzzed against her skin, a sensation so profound it felt less like sound and more like a physical force sinking into her. It didn’t just touch her; it filled her, a concentrated tremor centering directly on her clit. Her back arched off the rug, a silent gasp catching in her throat. It wasn’t pain. It was an assault of pure sensation, overwhelming and exquisite.
“Breathe through it,” Harry commanded, his voice cutting through the buzzing fog. He resumed his seat in the armchair, a spectator to her undoing. “Let the sensation wash over you. Don’t fight it. Your body knows what to do.”
Her hips gave an involuntary jerk, seeking friction, relief, more. The vibrator held fast, its magic adhering it to her, the hum intensifying in a slow, inexorable climb. The pleasure was immediate and brutal, coiling deep in her gut with terrifying speed. It was a white-hot wire of need, pulled taut.
“It’s building rather quickly, isn’t it?” Harry mused, his voice a lazy counterpoint to the frantic energy vibrating through her. “That’s the point of focused therapy. Fast. Efficient. Now, hold it right there. Don’t you dare crest.”
A broken sob escaped her. Her hands fisted at her sides, nails digging into her palms. The peak was right there, a shimmering, unbearable pressure poised to shatter her. The vibrator’s pitch shifted, the buzz softening to a gentle, maddening thrum. The edge receded, leaving her trembling and hollow, aching with denied release.
“Good,” he purred. “Now, feel it build again.”
The intensity surged back, harder this time, a relentless, rhythmic pulse that had her moaning openly, her head thrashing from side to side on the rug. The coil wound tighter, tighter, a spring ready to snap. She was panting, her breasts heaving, every nerve ending shrieking for culmination.
“And… stop.” The vibration died instantly.
The scream that tore from her was one of pure frustration. Tears of desperation welled in her eyes. The absence of sensation was a agony in itself.
Again and again, he took her there. To that blinding, breathless precipice. He wielded the enchantment with cruel precision, learning her body’s responses faster than she could herself. He pushed her to the very brink, watching the tension claim every muscle in her body, watching her toes curl and her stomach clench, only to pull her back at the very last possible millisecond. Each denial was a lesson deeper than the last, etching the truth into her synapses: climax was a gift only he could give.
Her world dissolved into a cycle of aching build-up and desperate, whimpering denial. She was sweat-slicked and shaking, her mind blissfully, perfectly empty of everything but the need for his permission.
“You’re being so good for me,” he murmured, and the praise lit her up more intensely than the vibrator ever could. “Taking every bit of this therapy. Your mind is so quiet. So peaceful. You feel so good, don’t you? So relaxed.”
“Y-yes,” she choked out, the word a struggle.
“Your headache is gone. Isn’t it?”
She realized it was true. The familiar, nagging pressure behind her eyes had vanished, burned away in the crucible of this overwhelming physicality. “Gone,” she whispered, awed.
“Of course it is.” He smiled. “Now, one last time. I want you to ride the edge for me. I want you to hold yourself there, right on the brink, until I tell you to fall.”
The vibrator surged to life one final time, its power immense, all-consuming. It was a tidal wave of sensation, and she rode it, her body bowing, every muscle straining. She held herself there, suspended in a universe of pure, vibrating need, her entire being focused on the silent promise in his eyes.
“Now, Hermione,” he said, his voice soft but absolute. “Come.”
The command was the final key. Her orgasm exploded through her, a silent, seismic event that wiped out all thought, all sense, all everything. It was a convulsive, endless wave of pleasure, wringing a raw, continuous cry from her lungs as her body seized again and again, utterly possessed by the release he had granted.
As the convulsions began to subside, he leaned close, his lips nearly touching her ear. His voice was the only thing that existed in the vast, empty silence he had carved inside her.
“Listen carefully. You will wake up now. You will feel refreshed, clear-headed, and wonderfully relaxed. You will not question my methods. You felt good. Your headache is gone. That is all that matters. And the moment you are fully awake, your body will remember this final peak. You will have one last, gentle orgasm, a sweet little aftershock, a reminder of how good it feels to be under my care. And you will know, with absolute certainty, that you need to return. To maintain your mental health. This is a necessary treatment. Do you understand?”
Through the fading pulses of her climax, she managed a weak, blissed-out nod.
“Wake up.”
Hermione’s eyes fluttered open. She was lying on the rug, a soft, woven blanket draped over her. The fire crackled low and warm. She felt… incredible. Languid. Weightless. The oppressive tension in her temples was a forgotten memory. She blinked, looking up at Harry, who was seated across from her, sipping what looked like tea, a faint, professional smile on his face.
“Feeling better?” he asked, his voice warm, normal, just-Harry.
“So much better,” she breathed, a genuine smile touching her lips. She stretched, a contented sigh escaping her. “Whatever that was, it’s… wow. I feel fantastic.” A gentle, fluttering pulse bloomed deep inside her, a soft, rippling climax that made her catch her breath, her eyes widening for a second before a dreamy sigh followed. “Oh my…”
Harry’s smile widened slightly. “A common side effect of deep relaxation. The body releasing the final remnants of tension. It’s a good sign.”
She laughed, a light, airy sound she hadn’t made in months. “I’ll say.” She sat up, pulling the blanket around her shoulders. “I… I think I should probably book a follow-up. You know. To maintain this.”
“I think that’s a very wise idea,” Harry said, his green eyes holding hers.
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Healer Potter's Perfect Wives